


Something to believe in

by Dorinator



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Fluff, Geralt almost dies due to his own dumbassery, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt's a broke bitch cuz he keeps getting paid too little, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier cares and Geralt cannot comprehend, Jaskier's dad is also there, M/M, and he's a dick, angst kind of, but it'll take him 20 years to admit it, but that's nothing new, but that's nothing new either
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:07:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23310613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dorinator/pseuds/Dorinator
Summary: Geralt stares, astonished. He stares at Jaskier, turns his gaze to the key in his hand, then back at Jaskier again. After a long moment he speaks. "You… you paid for a room? My room?"Jaskier grins. "Yes, indeed I did. Now take the damn key, please, my arm is getting numb."So Geralt does, standing there with the key in his hand like an idiot until Jaskier pushes him towards the stairs gently."Well, go on! I didn't buy you a room only for you to stand here all night."Alternatively: Geralt is an idiot who can't take care of himselfOR 5 times Jaskier got something for Geralt and one time he returned the favor
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 9
Kudos: 132





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the boys meet for the first time and Geralt doesn't get paid enough for this shit.

**\-------------------- 1 ----------------**

"C'mon, give me a review. Three words or less."

Geralt stares. He's just been minding his own business, fully prepared to have a drink or two alone before he continues his journey. Who would drink with a witcher, after all?

The man in front of him stares back, eyebrows raised and clearly waiting for an answer. Like his opinion on the bard's stupid song somehow had any value.

"They don't exist." He says finally, taking another sip of his near empty mug.

The man's eyebrows climb even higher. "What don't exist?"

"The creatures. In your song." Geralt clarifies curtly, wishing the man would leave now that he got his answer. He's never been a social person.

"How would you know?" The man insists. Geralt doesn't even bother to dignify that question with a response. The man's face lights up like he's just had a stunning revelation.

"Oh, I know! White hair, big, old loner, two very,  _ very  _ scary looking swords… I know who you are." He lists. It's Geralt's turn to raise an eyebrow. "You're Geralt of Rivia!" 

Geralt stays quiet and the man takes it as the confirmation it is. Geralt expects the man to turn away in disgust, to leave after he's realized that he's been talking to a  _ witcher _ the whole time... though how the bard didn't see it in the first place is beyond him. Geralt, or witchers in general, aren't exactly hard to recognize. One look into his eyes and anyone with half a brain could see what he really is.

Instead the bard extends a hand. "My name's Jaskier! And well, I already know yours, so no need to...uhh.. introduce yourself." He trails off awkwardly. Geralt keeps staring at the outstretched hand, not making a move to shake it and eventually the bard drops his arm, scratching his neck awkwardly.

"Right...uh.. Ale?" The man- Jaskier asks, taking a seat opposite of Geralt. Uninvited and blissfully unaware of the glare he's currently receiving. Or maybe he just doesn't care, which Geralt finds odd. A witcher's glare usually sends any man running.

"Refills on me." The bard clarifies, nodding at Geralt's now empty mug before shouting his order at the innkeep. Soon there are two full mugs of ale in front of them and Jaskier is chattering away like this is a usual occurrence. Like he often just sits down and buys a drink for a witcher, a monster. 

_ 'Well…' _ Geralt thinks as he slowly takes a sip, deliberately ignoring the bard's endless chatter.  _ 'Who am I to say no to a free drink ?' _

**\----------------------- 2 ----------------------**

__

A month later and the bard is still tagging along. No matter how much Geralt tries to push him away he always comes back, often with a new song that he insistently tries to get Geralt's opinion on. He never does, of course, but he tries time and time again.

__

" _ Stay. Here. _ " Geralt snaps at the infuriating man. Jaskier truly is an idiot if he thinks he can survive facing a werewolf.

__

Jaskier sputters. "I'm not leaving you!" He exclaims dramatically and Geralt rolls his eyes.

__

"You'd die if you came with me." He states bluntly. Jaskier opens his mouth to protest, but Geralt cuts him off. He already knows what the bard is going to say. "No, you can't be sure that I will be able to protect you. Neither can I. Just stay at the inn, Jaskier." His tone leaves no room for argument and he turns to leave again.

__

Jaskier huffs but pulls out his lute and heads towards the inn. "You'd better come back in one piece!" He yells after Geralt's retreating back. Geralt ignores him.

__

The fight is long and exhausting. The werewolf manages to catch Geralt off guard and add a new scar to his growing collection before Geralt manages to cut its head off. He's tired, hungry, aching and miserable when he gets back to the village. He reports his kill to the young boy who posted the notice and the boy hands him some money. It's clearly not enough.

__

"This is barely half of what I was promised." Geralt states in a low tone. The boy looks around nervously, eyes finally landing on something behind Geralt that seems to give him a burst of confidence. 

__

"It's the exact amount we agreed on, ser." He says loudly, still glancing behind Geralt. The witcher turns around, only to see what appears to be half the village’s guards standing only a short distance away. Just his luck. “Ye won’t be taking a copper more from me.” The boy continues, even louder. Some of the guards turn to stare at them, glaring at Geralt darkly.

__

Geralt swears under his breath, mentally running through his options. He could use axii on the boy to make him keep his promise, but the guards would no doubt attack him the very second he did. He could just take the money by force, which would also lead to a fight. He could try to reason with the guards but nobody would believe him, a greedy money-hungry witcher over a poor young boy. He’d get branded a liar and the guards would still fight him. There’s nothing he can do without angering the guards, most likely making the whole village his enemy in the process and the boy knows it.

__

So he turns back to glare at the boy, feeling some satisfaction as he gulps and takes a step back. “It’s a fucking shame I can’t unkill a monster. Some people would be better off getting mauled.” Geralt snarls at the young boy, who takes another step back, all of his confidence gone. The guards take a step closer, hands on the hilt of their swords as a quiet warning.

__

Geralt has no intentions of making himself an enemy of the entire village, no matter how much he might want to kill the young boy just to shut his lying tongue up for good. So he just turns on his heel and makes his way to find Jaskier, the money pouch on his hip much lighter than it should be.

__

He finds Jaskier at the inn. He's playing a merry tune that does little else but make Geralt even more annoyed than he currently is. Jaskier doesn't seem to even notice him. That's fine. He wasn't really looking for company. He just wants some peace and quiet, a bed and some rest. Maybe a bath if he's lucky. Gods only know he would get none of those if Jaskier decided to come and talk to him.

__

"How much for a room with a bath?" He asks gruffly. The barkeep barely looks up from the mug he's cleaning.

__

"50 crowns." He replies. Geralt digs through his pouch and swears.  _ 'Well. There goes that luck.' _

__

"And a room without a bath?" 

__

"40 crowns." It's still not low enough. Geralt needs to save some money for resupplying his potions, needs to have some money aside so he can get his gear fixed quickly if needed.

__

"Never mind, then." He grumbles, turning from the counter ready to spend another night under the sky, keeping watch for beasts and monsters, hunting for food and maybe bathing in some small, freezing river. If he can find one.

__

Jaskier, however, appears to have other plans as he chooses just that exact moment to appear before him.

__

"Geralt!" The bard yells before he slaps Geralt's shoulder so lightly the witcher can barely even feel it. "I see you took my advice to come back in one piece, if not a bit worse for wear! I must say, I'm pleased about that and- where are you going?" Jaskier trails off as Geralt keeps walking, heading for the door.

__

"Outside." He answers. Jaskier runs after him.

__

"For what? Haven't you done enough today? Time for rest, no? Or a bath. Frankly, you smell awful. No offense! ...Well actually, why not both? Not at the same time of course, but-" Jaskier keeps going on and on as usual. Geralt turns to glare at him.

__

"I don't have enough coin. Gotta sleep outside." He grumbles. Jaskier opens and closes his mouth a couple of times before he bursts into laughter. Geralt grits his teeth.

__

" _ Jask- _ " His growl is interrupted by the bard's overly cheerful tone.

__

"Oh, no you don't!" Jaskier says, wrapping an arm around Geralt's shoulders to guide him towards the stairs leading to the rooms. Geralt lets him. The man couldn't move him an inch if he resisted.

__

"I took the liberty of paying for your room. See, I thought you'd like a room after that whole monster-slaying business is done. You always get so grumpy after a hard fight and -oh come on, don't look like that, you  _ do _ get grumpy. See, you're grumpy right now! Well, no need for that anymore." Jaskier pauses for long enough to dramatically pull something out of his pocket. A room key. He presents it to Geralt with a mock-bow. "Your room, master witcher, bath included and all expenses paid for." 

__

Geralt stares, astonished. He stares at Jaskier, turns his gaze to the key in his hand, then back at Jaskier again. After a long moment he speaks. "You… you paid for a room?  _ My  _ room?"

__

Jaskier grins. "Yes, indeed I did. Now take the damn key, please, my arm is getting numb." 

__

So Geralt does, standing there with the key in his hand like an idiot until Jaskier pushes him towards the stairs gently.

__

"Well, go on! I didn't buy you a room only for you to stand here all night." Jaskier says as he picks up his lute again, strumming a few chords. "Have a good bath! And please  _ actually  _ sleep for once, you can't just keep meditating forever, you know… But the night is young and my audience demands entertainment. Funny how much more freely people give coins when they’ve got a long day behind them and some ale in their system! I’ll see you in the morning, Geralt.” He rambles, throwing Geralt one last smile before he starts singing and disappears into the crowd.

__

‘ _ Maybe…’  _ Geralt thinks later as he lies in bed, freshly bathed and toeing the line between wakefulness and sleep. ‘ _ Just maybe it isn’t too bad to have someone to travel with.’  _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jaskier meets people from his past and Geralt decides the best course of action is clearly to poison himself.

\--------------  **3** \---------------

A year has passed and Jaskier still stays. He bears Geralt’s angry outbursts, brushes off the witcher’s insults with sarcastic remarks and doesn't even seem to mind being ignored most of the time. Jaskier keeps singing Geralt’s praise wherever they go, even after all that he's said and done. Jaskier makes it seem like he's some kind of hero. Like he's not just a mutant made for the sole purpose to kill.

Geralt doesn’t understand it. He doubts he ever will, but he allows Jaskier to tag along and sing his exaggerated songs.

And drag him into plenty of uncomfortable situations, apparently.

"Really, Jaskier? Again?" Geralt grumbles. Jaskier at least has enough sense to look sheepish.

"It's not like the last time! Or the time before that! Well, not  _ completely-" _

"It's another meeting between nobles, how much different could it possibly be from all the other meetings?" Geralt interrupts Jaskier before he even has the chance to begin. "Whose wife did you fuck this time?"

Jaskier sputters. He does that a lot but it never fails to amuse Geralt. "It's not like that! I didn't say I needed _protection_ , you just assumed!" Jaskier protests. Geralt quirks an eyebrow.

"Why else would you need me?" 

"I- it's, uhh…" Jaskier trails off and for a long moment Geralt thinks he's not going to continue. Still, he waits as the heavy silence drags on.

"It's my father." The bard admits finally, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. "He's most likely going to be there and I'd… rather not face him alone. Rather not face him at all, in fact, but if I have to I'd prefer to have someone there with me."

Oh.  _ Oh.  _

Jaskier wants him, the White Wolf, the Butcher of Blaviken _,_ the emotionless mutant to be his _moral support._

"...And what would you have me do?" Geralt finally says after another long silence. He doesn’t ask why Jaskier wants to avoid his father. It’s none of his business. Jaskier stops his fidgeting to look at Geralt, confused. Geralt sighs but elaborates regardless. "When-  _ if  _ we see your father, what would you have me do?" He asks before he can even register that the question in itself is practically an agreement to accompany Jaskier. 

The bard doesn't miss that and his face lights up at Geralt's half-accidental agreement. "Oh! Uh… don't do anything. To him, I mean, guess you have to do something during the party. You'd look quite strange just standing there... But it's what you usually do, right? Never mind then, just stand there if you want." Jaskier rambles and Geralt rubs his temples. 

"You want me to come to some noble meeting your father  _ might  _ be at so I can do absolutely nothing if you see him?" Geralt repeats flatly. He can feel a headache building.

"I said don't do anything  _ to  _ him, not don't do anything! Just… be there. Nothing else needed. Please?" Jaskier asks, looking so worried that Geralt finds himself agreeing before he can stop himself.

“Fine.” He grunts and Jaskier beams.

“Well, a good thing too! Otherwise I would’ve bought this for nothing.” Jaskier chatters, digging through his bag for a moment before he pulls out a terrible-looking shirt and presents it to Geralt. It's far too fancy, too detailed and too bright for Geralt’s taste.

“What the hell is that?” He asks, staring at the shirt blankly. Jaskier laughs.

“Why, Geralt, it’s a shirt! Latest fashion, I might add. I saw you get rid of the shirt you used in the last noble meeting we attended - which was quite rude of you by the way, it was a good shirt - and figured you’d have nothing decent to wear so I got you this!” Jaskier says cheerfully, pushing the awful garment towards Geralt again. 

“I’m not wearing that.” Geralt grumbles. Jaskier’s face falls into something that can only be described as a pout when he lowers the shirt slightly.

“C’mon, Geralt! I bought it for you! Besides, you can’t walk into a gathering in full armor. If you just tried it-” The bard protests and Geralt rubs his temples again. The headache is getting worse.

Later that evening, for reasons he will never understand, Geralt finds himself standing in the corner of some flamboyant mansion packed full of equally flamboyant people. He watches as Jaskier performs and the nobles cheer, silently counting down the hours until he can leave and get out of this horrible tunic.

“Ahh, this truly is the place to be, no?” Jaskier says cheerfully as he approaches the brooding witcher, money pouch much fuller than it was when they arrived. Geralt glares at him.

“I’d rather be fighting a wyvern.” He grunts and the bard laughs, patting Geralt’s shoulder.

“Now, now, it’s not that bad! Just imagine all the things we can buy with the coin I get from here! They’re eating right out of my hand-” Jaskier suddenly trails off as the rest of the sentence dies in his throat. His face turns neutral, the usual good cheer gone in a second. Geralt can see how guarded he looks and turns to see what caused this sudden change of attitude. An arrogant looking man dressed in outrageously bright clothes is approaching them, face a carefully neutral mask similar to Jaskier’s.

The man reaches them and for a while nobody speaks as he and Jaskier stare at each other. Finally Jaskier and the man open their mouths at the exact same time. 

“Father.”   
  
“Julian.” 

Their greeting is tight, no warmth in either of their voices. The man - Jaskier’s father clears his throat.

“Long time no see.” He speaks slowly. Jaskier snorts derisively. 

“Indeed. Though I have to say, I rather liked it that way.” He replies, trying to appear nonchalant. His father frowns, glancing down at the lute Jaskier is still holding before he meets the bard’s gaze again.

“I told you that you should stay and learn how to be a proper noble. I told you that you should drop your foolish dreams of being an  _ artist  _ before you end up as a jester, making a fool out of yourself for others’ entertainment while you drag our family name through the mud in the process. Seems I was right to say that.” Jaskier’s father scoffs.

Jaskier’s face falls before he valiantly gathers himself. In an impressively short time he manages to school his features into that awful cold expression again. He opens his mouth but closes it again, seemingly unsure of what to say. Jaskier’s father takes a step forward, reaching out his hand like he’s about to grab the bard’s lute, presumably to make a point. He never gets the chance, however, as Geralt blocks his way. The witcher steps in front of Jaskier and glares at the man in warning. 

Jaskier’s father stares at the witcher in front of him. Geralt feels some satisfaction at the underlying fear he can see in the man’s eyes even when his face gives nothing away.

“Julian. Call off your guard dog.” Jaskier’s father takes a moment to sneer at Geralt. The witcher grits his teeth in annoyance but makes no move to leave. Jaskier makes no move to get him out of the way either. The bard says nothing and it’s  _ wrong,  _ because Jaskier’s always talking, always telling some inane story or composing a new song… His father takes this unnerving silence as his chance to continue. "I'm just trying to have a civilized conversation, which won't be possible with this...thing standing between us.”

_ Thing.  _ Of course.

Geralt merely raises an eyebrow, far too used to being spoken about as if he wasn't a being at all. Jaskier, however, seems to have gained some new fire from his father's words and he takes a step to stand beside Geralt.

" _ Don't call him that. _ " Jaskier hisses in a tone that Geralt might've described as threatening if its source had been anyone but Jaskier. His father looks taken aback, clearly surprised that the bard spoke back to him at all. 

"You think you can just waltz in here and tell me how to live my life?" Jaskier continues, some newfound rage fueling his every word. "You wonder why I left? Are you  _ really  _ that blind? We haven't seen each other in  _ years  _ and the first thing you do is insult me and my choices in life! Which is nothing new I might add, but then you go and insult my friend, who by the way is not a  _ thing!  _ This-" He goes on, waving a hand in his father's general direction. "All this is why I left. You have no regard for me or others! You think you're always right and everyone should do as you say. You think nobody else's opinion matters, that nobody else matters if they're not exactly like you! If this is what being a 'proper noble' is, then I don't want it."

Jaskier’s father doesn’t even try to hide his surprise this time, eyes widening. Geralt can practically see the gears turning in his head as he thinks of a response - an insult, no doubt. He doesn’t get a chance to respond, however, as Jaskier pays him no mind. The bard takes a deep breath and turns to Geralt. “Let’s go.” He says curtly, taking Geralt by the arm and dragging him along.

Geralt lets the bard lead him further and further away from the mansion. Jaskier only stops to catch his breath when they can barely see the building anymore and the deafening cacophony of music and people is no more than a faint whisper in the wind.

Jaskier sits down with no regard for his fancy clothes, inhales shakily and buries his head in his hands. Geralt is truly at a loss as he stares at Jaskier's shaking form. What does one do with a human that appears to be currently having a crisis? He briefly considers just leaving the bard there and letting Jaskier handle it on his own, but something in him won't let him do so. A stubborn voice telling him to help somehow.

_ 'What a time to grow a conscience.'  _ Geralt thinks sourly as he sits down next to the bard and clears his throat awkwardly.

"So...ale?" He asks in his usual monotone, making sure to act as he normally does. He doesn't mention Jaskier's father, doesn’t ask questions about the bard’s past. He doesn’t even ask why Jaskier never told him that his real name is apparently  _ Julian. _ If Jaskier wants to talk about what happened, he will. He's never been shy in that regard. And if the bard wishes to be called Jaskier, Geralt sees no reason to bring up his real name. 

Jaskier looks up and Geralt can see the tears in his eyes. He doesn't like the sight.

"You're buying?" Jaskier asks quietly. Geralt stays silent. He wishes he could, if only to wipe that awful sorrowful look from the bard's face. But he can't, so he looks pointedly at the now-full money pouch on Jaskier's hip before turning his gaze to the near-empty one on his. Jaskier huffs, wiping his eyes.

"Right, right, fair enough. I'll pay but  _ you- _ " He pokes Geralt's chest to emphasize his words. "-owe me a story in exchange."

Geralt raises an eyebrow. "Story about what?"

Jaskier looks thoughtful for a moment before he points at a scar barely visible under the _terrible,_ too small shirt the bard insisted he wear. The one he agreed to put on only because Jaskier bought it for _him_. "Tell me how you got that one?"

Geralt doesn't recall that particular story containing any embarrassing details the bard could use as blackmail material, so he agrees.

"Deal." The witcher grunts as he pushes himself back up. He offers a hand to Jaskier, who's currently busy brushing the grass off his doublet.

Something warm blooms in his chest when Jaskier smiles up at him shakily and accepts the help without hesitation.

He ignores it. He really needs that drink. More importantly, he needs to  _ get this godsawful shirt off. _

**\--------------- 4 -----------------**

Five years pass and Jaskier shows absolutely no intentions of leaving. Their paths diverge occasionally, Geralt taking on a job far too dangerous for a human to tag along and Jaskier travelling to the next town where his talents are more appreciated. Sometimes Geralt gets sidetracked with other contracts, too caught up in his work to go look for the bard for weeks. Sometimes Jaskier follows after a new lover and Geralt doesn’t know where he is anymore. On some terrible occasions Geralt says something even Jaskier can’t handle and he leaves for a while. 

__

But the bard always comes back, forgiving even when he shouldn’t be and always eager to travel with the witcher again. Usually they find each other without really even trying. Often Geralt finds Jaskier in whatever town his latest lover left him in. The poet, without fail, looks happy to see him. He then whines about life being unfair and heartbreak while Geralt rolls his eyes and lets him talk. The next day they’re back to sharing a room or a campfire. 

__

Whenever Geralt drives Jaskier away with careless words he seeks the bard out, apologizing in his own way. He never says ‘I’m sorry’, not out loud anyway, but he doesn’t have to. Jaskier can read the witcher better than anyone else ever could, so he sees the unspoken apologies in the way Geralt makes sure the bard gets the more comfortable bedroll or makes his favorite food or gives his own share to the bard, claiming he’s not hungry.

__

More often than not they stay in the same village or town at the same time and travel to the next one together. Jaskier insists on staying at the nearest inn whenever Geralt is busy fighting monsters, no matter how bad its condition is or how hostile its residents are, so the witcher isn’t surprised when Jaskier declares he’s staying in the rotting shack - or the inn, according to the villagers - while Geralt takes care of the bruxa that's been terrorizing the desolate village. After their usual argument about whether or not the bard can come with him, of course. 

__

While Geralt gathers his gear Jaskier tells him to come back alive and in one piece, like he always does. It’s not much use as the witcher doesn’t magically gain power to reattach a torn limb or evade death itself just because Jaskier told him to, but he quite appreciates the sentiment nonetheless. Geralt grunts in a way that Jaskier intercepts as ‘Yes, my dear friend, I will be very careful and not run blindly into danger, thank you for your concern. Also you sing very well.’ and pats the witcher’s shoulder. Geralt tells the bard to stay out of trouble while he’s away, Jaskier assures him he always does - which is a lie- and so Geralt is off, coaching Roach deep into the woods.

__

When he finally arrives at his destination he unmounts, ties Roach to a tree with a knot sturdy enough to keep the horse in place but easy enough to undo quickly should the need arise and digs through the saddlebag for the right potions. 

__

Jaskier has complained on multiple occasions about the lack of labels on the bottles, but Geralt felt no need to go through the trouble of adding them. After all, he knew what each potion looked like and he was the only one who could use them. If push came to shove and he was unable to get the potion himself, he could always just describe it to the bard. Jaskier had complained about that argument too.

__

_ "But what if you're unconscious and can't describe the bottle?"  _ Jaskier had protested.

__

_ "If I'm unconscious I can't tell you which potion to bring anyway. Labels won't help you then."  _ Geralt had pointed out while Jaskier grumbled, but thankfully dropped the matter. At least until the following week when Geralt had asked Jaskier to get him some Cat and the bard had brought in an actual cat, claiming he couldn’t possibly have known what Geralt meant since he refused to label his potions. 

__

Geralt shakes his head at the memory as he pulls out the potions he needs. Cat, not an actual one this time, and some Blizzard as well. He’ll need the improved vision and reflexes in a fight against a bruxa. After he drinks those he picks up Black blood as well before hesitating. It’s useful in a fight against bloodsucking creatures, but the downside of drinking a potion that makes your blood toxic is, well… making your blood toxic. With the other potions running through his body there's a high chance of overdosing if he drinks it now.

__

As Geralt debates whether or not to take the risk, he hears the familiar screech of a bruxa somewhere nearby. He hastily shoves the potion into his pocket, pulling his recently oiled sword out of its sheath before he stalks towards the noise.

Bruxae are tricky bastards. Fast as hell and, as if that wasn't enough, they have the ability to turn invisible too. Geralt hates fighting them. He squints his eyes, using his enhanced vision to try and locate the beast.

__

Before he has the chance to do so, however, he hears a twig break behind him, a noise so quiet that anyone with regular hearing wouldn’t have heard it. Seems like the bruxa found him first. Geralt swears and turns as fast as he can, raising the sword instantly. Thanks to his improved reflexes he manages to block the potentially lethal strike, but the force of the impact sends his sword flying as he had no time to take a proper defensive stance.

__

"Fuck." He swears again and blasts the creature with Aard, scrambling to reach his sword before the bruxa regains its bearings. One mistake is all it takes on the Path. One stumble and you're dead. 

__

The bruxa recovers much faster than expected and screams, the force of it making Geralt disoriented for a brief moment. Unfortunately, a brief moment is more than enough for a bruxa with incredible speed to attack and Geralt finds himself on his back with a bloodthirsty creature looming over him, ready to strike at any given moment.

__

There’s no way he can reach his sword now. No way to use signs either as he needs time to recover between casting them. Geralt barely has time to register what he’s doing before reflexes kick in and in a last-ditch effort to not get sucked dry he hastily pulls the vial out of his pocket, downing the extremely toxic potion in it - consequences be damned. At least if he dies this way, poisoned by his own damn potions, he will take the creature down with him.

__

He can instantly feel the effects of the Black blood and not a moment too soon. Just as Geralt finishes swallowing the potion the bruxa sinks its teeth into his neck, making him cry out in pain from the combination of the potion turning his blood toxic and the creature trying to tear his throat open. 

__

The bruxa lets go quickly and screeches again, desperately trying to somehow fight against the poison it just consumed but Black blood is effective and spreads incredibly fast. That fight is useless, Geralt knows. He isn’t doing much better himself. He’s always felt a bit dizzy and nauseous after consuming that particular potion but now, now that he already has two other potions running through his veins, he feels like absolute shit and spots are already starting to cloud his vision. 

__

Still, he drags himself onto his feet and retrieves his sword with much more effort than expected. He no longer pays attention to the bruxa as it’s in no condition to attack him and will be dead in a matter of minutes - or seconds. Instead he focuses on getting to Roach as quickly as possible, which isn’t very quick considering he’s losing his vision and coordination skills fast. If he manages to drink some White honey to cleanse his system before the Black blood spreads throughout his whole body he may yet be able to avoid complete overtoxicity.

__

He's trembling, cold sweat running down his face when he finally manages to reach Roach and somehow fumble open the straps of her saddlebag. He digs through the potions with a shaking hand, the other pressed to his neck to slow the bleeding, and discards vial after vial. None of them contain White honey. It’s when the bag is finally empty, all the potions scattered around him, that he has to face the truth. He did not take any White honey with him. It’s presumably the potion he took out of the bag in order to fit Black blood in as it's far too small to contain all the potions he owns. Ironic.

__

He wants to yell and curse at himself for being so  _ stupid,  _ but his mouth doesn’t work anymore. He tries to form words but nothing comprehensible comes out. His vision is nearly gone, his ears ringing. All he can make out is the outline of Roach’s form. Roach, still tied to a tree. Geralt has no idea if he’s standing or on his knees at this point, but he reaches out blindly until he grasps the knot preventing the horse from leaving and miraculously manages to undo it. 

__

Geralt feels Roach press her muzzle against his head, snuffling. He can’t see anything at this point but her presence is comforting. He reaches out again, patting the horse gently. She snorts and nudges him like she’s expecting him to get on but he shakes his head.

__

“Go.” He manages to whisper before his body betrays him and he collapses on the ground. He knows this only because the smell of dirt is now stronger than it was seconds before. He can’t feel anything anymore, can’t get his limbs to cooperate. The poison must’ve spread through his whole body, then.

__

_ 'Remember _ .' Vesemir had always said.  _ 'There are no second chances for a witcher. If you fail, you die. That's it.'  _ He'd repeated this mantra over and over again until it was ingrained even in the thickest of skulls. The young boys at Kaer Morhen had just rolled their eyes at the old man's ravings. They thought themselves invincible. Most of them didn't even make it past the trials.

__

If only Vesemir could see him now. He tries to imagine the look on the old witcher’s face, but thinking takes tremendous effort. Not that there’s much to think about. He failed. He’ll die. That's it.

__

He only wishes he’d had a chance to say goodbye to his bard.

\---------------

Safe to say, Geralt is surprised when he wakes up. For a moment he’s convinced he _did_ die and this is the afterlife. Though, he thinks, the afterlife shouldn’t hurt this damn much. 

__

Slowly he opens his eyes, blinking against the bright light suddenly flooding his vision and tries to turn on his side to see where the hell he is. Keyword being tries, as his arm immediately gives out when he puts some weight on it and he falls onto his back with a pained hiss.

__

Immediately he can hear shuffling and footsteps from somewhere near him and inches away instinctively, his guard up. 

__

“ _ Geralt! _ ” A shrill voice cries and the witcher in question slowly relaxes as he recognizes who it belongs to. 

__

“...Jaskier.” He croaks, voice barely audible. The bard is next to him in a second, hands roaming all over Geralt’s body in a way he would never allow anyone else to do, checking for further injuries, feeling his forehead for signs of fever and even taking his pulse.

__

“Geralt! Geralt, I thought… I… How are you feeling?” Jaskier asks. He looks like he hasn’t properly slept in a week. His hair is a mess and there are visible bags under his eyes.

__

“Thirsty.” Geralt whispers and immediately Jaskier goes to pour him some water. Geralt tries to take the cup and drink some, but his hands are shaking too badly for him to even hold it.

__

“Look, just… let me.” Jaskier says and without waiting for an answer he takes the cup from Geralt’s hand, holding it up to the witcher’s lips. His hand is shaking too. Geralt is too tired to care about his pride and his brain is too muddled to protest, so he accepts the help with no complaints.

__

“Where are we?” Geralt finally asks, feeling the makeshift bandage on his neck that was apparently used to stop him from bleeding out. Jaskier pulls his hand away from it, a warning look on his face. Geralt leaves it alone.

__

“The village healer’s house. Lucky she even was here, they told me she had just returned the day before I- before I brought you in.” Jaskier explains with a tremor in his voice, fiddling with the now empty cup. 

__

“Before you brought me in?” Geralt asks, not really surprised. Why else would he be alive? Who else would even think to look for him, let alone care enough to get him to a healer?

__

“Yes, Geralt, before I brought you in. Roach came here alone and her bag was all empty and I thought that maybe you’d been robbed or something but then she started leading me somewhere and I know she’s a smart horse so I followed her and there were so many potions everywhere and you were there-” Jaskier pauses to take a deep breath. His voice is even shakier when he continues. “ _ Gods _ , you were there and you just… just laid there and nothing I did made you react at all and you were so cold and I couldn’t even find a heartbeat and I thought.. I thought you were gone.”

__

“But I’m not. I’m still here.” Geralt says in an attempt to reassure the bard, but that appears to have been the wrong thing to say because Jaskier suddenly stands up and flings the cup on the floor angrily.

__

“No thanks to  _ you! _ ” The bard yells, pointing at Geralt as if to prove a point somehow. “Isabel - the healer - said your body was full of poison, but when I asked her from what creature it could possibly be from, she just looked at me all sad and said it wasn’t from a creature, that you’d drank it all yourself. What the hell were you thinking? Did I not tell you to  _ not _ die and what do you do? Try to kill yourself!” Jaskier’s breathing heavily and shaking all over, but there’s a familiar fire in his eyes and Geralt knows the bard won’t give up until he has answers. 

__

“I had no choice. The potion I drank makes my blood toxic and kills bloodsucking creatures in the process.” Jaskier looks like he’s about to interrupt Geralt, but the witcher continues on before he has to bear another outburst. “I only reserve it for emergencies, Jaskier. I didn’t  _ try _ to kill myself, but the bruxa was on me so I had to-”   
  
“So you had to poison yourself instead?” Jaskier asks, voice much quieter. He slowly walks over and sits down on Geralt’s bedside.

__

“It was either get my throat torn out or drink some potion. At least I had a chance with the potion. I would’ve been just fine if I’d had some White honey on me.” Geralt attempts to reason with the bard, pushing down the bitterness he feels at his own failure. Jaskier looks puzzled so the witcher elaborates. “A potion that cleanses my system from all other potions.”

__

“Why didn’t you have that then?” Jaskier nearly shouts and Geralt looks away. 

__

“...Didn’t have enough room in my saddlebag.” He finally grunts and embarrassment rises inside him when Jaskier just stares at him in disbelief.

__

“You’re telling me you almost got yourself killed because your  _ saddlebag didn’t have enough room? _ ” Jaskier practically hisses. Geralt nods slowly, not meeting his eyes. He owes Jaskier the truth at least, no matter how humiliating it is. 

__

“You’re an IDIOT!” Jaskier yells, his eyes shining with unshed tears. Geralt finally looks up at the bard. He seems furious. “You couldn’t have taken anything from the bag you  _ actually _ don’t need? Hm? You absolute fucking moron made me think you were dead, made me think I'd never see your eyes or smile again, that I'd never hear you laugh or talk, made me practically  _ beg  _ the healer to do anything she can to save you, made me sit here and watch over you for  _ 4 days  _ in uncertainty and pray to whatever gods would listen to just  _ please let you live _ . All because your fucking bag  _ didn't have enough room! _ ” He pauses to take a breath, but that brief break is apparently enough and the dam finally breaks. Jaskier’s body shakes as he breaks down into sobs.

__

Geralt frowns.  _ 4 days? Has it been that long?  _ However, at the moment he has more pressing matters in his mind than the number of days he’s been out.

__

“Jaskier.” Geralt says softly. The quiet tone sounds unfamiliar even to his own ears. The bard turns to look at him, tears running down his cheeks. Geralt tentatively raises a shaking hand to wipe them away, encouraged when Jaskier leans into the touch.

__

“You’re right. I was an idiot.” Geralt says and Jaskier huffs slightly, like the witcher had just said something painfully obvious. Which he had. Geralt pulls the bard closer, pressing his forehead against Jaskier’s. 

__

“I’m sorry.” He whispers and Jaskier all but wails, throwing himself into Geralt’s arms. Even then he still somehow manages to be mindful of the witcher's injuries. Geralt doesn't protest, only wraps his arms around the smaller man and lets him cry into his shoulder.

__

"I was so scared." Jaskier whispers when his sobs have finally quieted down to the occasional sniffles. Geralt rubs his back slowly. "I was terrified of losing you. I don't… I don't know what I would've done if you had died."

__

Geralt shifts to adjust them into a more comfortable position. "You would've found some other muse, someone else to sing about. You would've been fine, Jaskier."

__

Jaskier glares at him, though the effect is ruined by the wetness in his eyes. "You're wrong. You talk like you're replaceable but you're not. You're not just my muse, you're the closest friend I have."

__

Geralt doesn't know what to say, so he says nothing and just holds his bard a little tighter.

__

"Promise me you won't do that again. That if you  _ have  _ to, you'll at least keep some of that White honey on you. Please. I'll even buy you a bigger bag so all your potions fit." Jaskier mumbles as he detaches himself just enough to look Geralt straight in the eyes, his voice tired but resolute.

__

Geralt shifts again. "You don't have to." 

__

"I want to. It would give me some peace of mind, you know?" Jaskier says and looks so expectant, so desperate that no matter how much Geralt wants to say that he can't promise something like this won't happen again, that a witcher’s path is always dangerous and he can't possibly know what the future holds, he concedes.

__

"Promise." He says instead. Jaskier nods solemnly and flashes him a smile before settling back into the witcher's arms, seemingly worn out by his earlier outburst. He seems to have no intentions of moving and Geralt finds that he doesn’t mind.

__

Eventually they fall asleep, still in each other's arms and when Geralt wakes the next morning, he finds a brand new saddlebag waiting for him next to the bed. More importantly, he finds his bard sitting by his bedside, smiling down at the witcher as he offers Geralt some water and gently smooths the hair out of his eyes.

__

Geralt accepts the drink as well as the touch and smiles back, a warmth spreading through his body that has nothing to do with potions or fever when Jaskier visibly brightens. He doesn’t bother to tamp it down anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was this inspired by me always throwing away the useful shit like an idiot and keeping the absolutely useless stuff? Maybe so.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
